The Cookie

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend I haven't seen in oh, fifteen years or so.  Every time I see him I wonder why it's taken us so long to get together again.  Part of it stems from him living half a country away, but the rest is just laziness on both our parts.  When we DO see each other, we pick up right where we left off.  It's as if we were together all along.

Do you have a friend like that?  One you can talk to about anything, not holding back?  John is my own little Dr. Phil...at least whenever we talk...and I like to think I could be his as well.

The story of what happened the first time we met is one neither of us will ever forget...

We worked together many, MANY years ago at the local newspaper.  A group was going out to lunch, and they invited me.  He was part of that group.

We went to a local park and ate our bagged lunches, talking all the while.  Since I was new to the group, I remember not saying much.  John, however, was the life of the proverbial party.  (He still retains that title today.)  I don't know what got him started on the subject, but at one point he told everyone a story about his sister.

John and his sister Pat used to fight like cats and dogs, as many siblings do when they're growing up.  They took every opportunity to get their digs in.

One day John came into the living room to find Pat sitting on the floor, watching a television program.  The dog was on one side of her, and what looked to be a cookie was on the other side.

John, thinking he'd get the better of his sister and have a treat in the bargain, flew over and scooped up the cookie.

Only it wasn't a cookie.

It was regurgitated stomach contents from the dog.

Of course, when he told me this story I ran off gagging (for real) and making a general fool of myself.  He still remembers it to this day, fondly calling it the Vomit Cookie Episode.  I have known this man for almost 35 years, and he still brings it up whenever we talk.

Ah, fond memories of the past...